At the end of the war,
The bombs fell
On the factories,
The green onion fields,
And the houses by the river.
With flames flourishing
Like pagodas,the people
Sought the River's sanctuary.
Still the bombs pursued
Them, and they burned,
Floating in their flamboyant
Shrouds until their corpses
Lost their light, sank,
Weighting the river
With dark putrefaction.
Years pass, and the river
Runs with lime, stench,
Awaiting its return
To ordinary loveliness.

—Elizabeth A. Schultz, from "Return to Japan," March-April 1999